My Love: Think about it, sweetheart. What do you think straight people have been doing since forever? A straight woman wants to marry somebody who’s as smart, as ambitious, as good looking as she is. If we were straight, we’d each be married to some hunky genius. How’s this any different?

A little later:

Me: At this point, I’d settle for a doctor or a lawyer.

My Love: Is this a Jewish mother joke?

A little later. She tosses me a file:

My Love: How about an investment banker?

Me: Eww. Wolf of Wall Street?

My Love: My sweet, those guys were traders. Traders are animals. Investment bankers are very smart, very hard working and very ethical. At least the ones I work with.

A little later:

My Love: We are using the wrong sampling technique. This population is guys who advertise that they will jerk off in a jar to spread around their DNA. That’s fine, but the population we want to select from is geniuses.

Me: Right. And where do we find geniuses? In grad school.

My Love: Exactly. Columbia, NYU, right here on this very island.

Me: Princeton and Yale an hour away. Harvard and MIT up in Cambridge. Heck, my grad school. Get some of that good mountain DNA. So what do we do? Sneak into the science center and put up flyers on the Math and Physics boards?

My Love: With the little tabs at the bottom with our phone number?

Me: Run an ad in the Math and Physics journals?

My Love: “Wanted: High quality sperm for baby-fever lesbians. No further obligation. All expenses paid! Lube and jar included!”

There was a suggestion in the comments to my last post that the son of our friend might be a good DNA donor.

Me (jocularly): If [friend] can’t do it, maybe [friend’s son] can.

My Love: What a great idea! Honors Physics major, two sport athlete, hunk, killer looks, 6-4, wonderful kid, great genes all around …

Me: No, no, no! I was just kidding. How weird it would be to ask him? “Hey kid, you want to make a baby with me?” If it didn’t freak him out, I would be concerned for him. Besides, it would practically be Lolita.

My Love: Sweetie, he’ll be 21 years old by that time.

Me: Sometimes you are so obtuse. Think about it: Asking him to jerk off for a drop-dead gorgeous blonde? For God’s sake, dear, he’s seen you in that Eres swimsuit! He’s not even going to need a Playboy!